Nephthys
by ArtificialImagination
Summary: Before becoming the Scorpion King, Matthias was only an ambitious man. How was he led down the path from warrior to monster? Who, exactly, was his guide? [The Mummy Returns-based, spinoff of Set but can be read a standalone story.]
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:** This one is a bit complicated.

 **Things you should know:**

This story explores how the Scorpion King became the Scorpion King. It was conceptualized before the movie _the Scorpion King_ came out, so it really has no connections to it. It's based on the information in _the Mummy Returns_ , so that's where I've decided to categorize it.

This story is kind of a spinoff to my ongoing fanfic, Set, which is a sequel to my fanfic Isis. You don't need to read either to understand this, but it may add to the experience in the last chapter to see where it all ends up. But this _IS_ a self-contained story and you absolutely don't have to read anything else if you don't want to.

This story is a shorter one, only five chapters long.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything when it comes to concepts from the Mummy Returns. A few historical names are used, and I don't own them, either. Original characters and situations are mine.

 **Things you can skip reading, but I want to let you know anyway:**

This was written in the late summer of last year. It was my first time writing fanfiction in a little over a year, I think. I had just been through some things – including my mother's sudden illness leaving her hospitalized for six months and unable to walk, and the terminal diagnosis of my infant nephew – and I was still suffering depression, making coherent thought difficult. I am not saying this as a 'hey, feel sorry for me', but as an explanation for the odd writing style and less-than-coherent first chapter. I reread it a few times before now and thought it was fine, but now I see that it's a bit of a mess. Still, I enjoyed writing it, and I think it's fun to look at how the Scorpion King came to be who he was from another point of view. But if the quality of writing bothers you, believe me, I understand.

I have taken names of historical Pharaohs, and though my representation is fictional and historically inaccurate, I've done my best to study and to work with what facts we know about them and make it all fit together. I also did a lot of reading about ancient Egyptian society and food and weapons and medicine and all of that in the hopes to make as true a representation as I can. Hopefully any fan of ancient Egypt won't be jarred out of enjoying the story by any major inaccuracies.

All that being said, I really hope you enjoy this story. Please let me know what you think in reviews! (Helpful) criticism is as welcome as compliments.

* * *

Nephthys

Chapter One

Around 2920 BC

First Dynasty of Unified Egypt

Egyptian Wilderness

On the fateful morning, the heat was severe in the wasteland deserts of the ancient land. The sun was usually kinder, offering a morning which was pleasant to do work in, but on this day the heat beat down like the severity of a rod, making the easiest of tasks feel monumentally impossible. Still, the day's work must be done, for every person of the little tribe depended on the other.

The most important work of all was being done beneath a large, open canopy, where a few sat waiting anxiously for a dark-eyed girl to complete each task.

The girl kept her long, dark and braided hair tied up with red rag that had faded spots of a darker, brown-red color, which were very clearly bloodstains. This rag sat low on her hairline, catching drops of hot sweat as she worked over a fire, pressing a thick stone violently down into a matching bowl set over the flames. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and then with bare, worn hands took the bowl from the fire and set it on the sand. She spoke a few soft words as she poured the dark, hot fluid contained inside it into a tall-lipped jar, and then set the stone bowl down again and took up the jar containing the strong-scented fluid and carried it to a woman perhaps a decade older than her, who carried a screaming child in her lap.

The girl pressed the jar into the woman's hand. "Combine this with your milk," she said, her voice unusually deep for a girl of only thirteen years, "And his lungs will clear. If you need more licorice, come back to me and I will make you more."

The woman nodded, holding her child close to her chest and smiling gratefully. "Thank you, Sitiah," she said, and she took her child and left the tent. Sitiah turned, and saw a young man being carried into the canopy by two others. She quickly stood and went to his side.

"What is this?" she demanded, holding her too-long skirt up so she could run across the hot sands to the clearly wounded man.

"Thesh was hunting," explained one of the men quickly.

Sitiah waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, he is a hunter, he was hunting," she said impatiently as she motioned to a clearing in the tent where they could place Thesh. "That tells me nothing."

The two men lowered Thesh to the ground, and Thesh explained, "A lion," he gasped, and motioned to the calf of his left leg. "We wounded an antelope, and a lion desired it for her cubs. The other hunters abandoned the kill faster than I did, and she swiped at my leg to chase me off."

Sitiah dismissed the other men with a stern look, and knelt to examine the wound. After a quick look, she clicked her tongue and said, "You were spared, Thesh. This is a mild wound, for a lion."

Thesh groaned in pain, and then said, "I had hoped it would be terrible enough to justify my cries of agony. I will never again have the respect of the other hunters."

"You were attacked by a lion," said Sitiah, standing and moving to her collection of bowls filled with herbs, plants and foods, picking through them for certain items. "And you survived. You will have more than enough respect to please your vanity, Thesh."

Thesh attempted to laugh, but only managed to make an odd hissing sound.

Sitiah carried what items she needed back to the wounded hunter. Wordlessly, she placed one plate containing the raw meat of a cow that had been killed earlier in the day and a jar of honey on the other side of the man, and then picked up a slice of ginger root, and before he could say anything else, she forced the root into his mouth. "Bite down on it and you will not bite off your tongue," she explained, "And the ginger will help to build your strength."

Again, Thesh groaned, and when Sitiah picked up a needle of bone and a thread, he closed his eyes. She stitched the most grievous parts of his wounds back together, and ignored his grunts and hisses of pain, only speaking to him to demand he keep his leg still. When she was finished, she removed the ginger from his mouth, and leaned over him to take up some of the raw meat. As she leaned, the onyx amulet of a cobra she wore around her neck brushed against the tip of Thesh's nose. He reached up and tapped it with his finger, and Sitiah gave him a dark look.

The hunter was unapologetic, and smiled instead of appearing shameful. "I find it fascinating."

Sitiah pressed the raw meat into the more shallow wounds to stop the bleeding. "It is mine and mine alone, and not for you to touch." She pressed down hard, causing one of the wounds to sting like a burn. Thesh's fingers dug into the woven blanket beneath him, and for a time, he said nothing. He watched as the girl worked, pressing down meat and leaving it, wiping her hands on a white rag, leaving thick spots and lines of red.

Finally, Thesh made his dislike for silence clear by speaking again. "Will I need less traditional medicine?"

"If you want your leg to be pretty, perhaps," she replied, not taking her eyes off the wound. "What will you pay me?"

"What can I pay you?" asked Thesh almost incredulously. "It is well known that there is nothing that you want."

Sitiah knelt in silence for a moment, her eyes still on the wound, each finger moving up and down as she counted the time the meat had remained on his leg. Finally, she glanced at him through the corner of her narrow eyes. "The Dark One has given me power I cannot yet use, for lack of ingredients for potions. Agree to bring me the claws of a lion, and your leg will heal as beautifully as it ever was."

The young hunter's eyes widened. "A lion? After-?!"

The young medicine woman nodded. "A lion. You have been attacked by one and survived, you must know you have the ability to survive hunting one, if you are more careful." Sitiah began removing the meat, piece by piece. "It doesn't have to be an adult's claws. The claws of a cub will do."

Hesitating to give his answer, Thesh watched as Sitiah placed the meat back on it's plate and took up the jar of honey. She spread it on the wound thickly, her eyes focused as ever on the task at hand. Her eyes never wavered from what it was she needed to do.

"Very well," he sighed. "I will need my leg in perfect condition before I go to hunt the lion."

Sitiah nodded as she glanced at his face only briefly, and then she whispered words in the language their darkest god had taught her, and leaned forward so her face was near his wound. Her full lips then formed an 'o', and she blew air softly on the claw marks, and a chill filled Thesh. A moment later, she leaned back, and offered him her hand. Thesh took her hand and was surprised how warm and strong it was as she pulled him into a sitting position.

"I only need to wrap the wound," she said, getting to her feet. "And then you need to return home and rest for the next three days. I will come and change the linen twice a day. On the third day, you will find no mark on you."

Thesh grinned and opened his mouth to thank her, when angry shouts began to fill the camp. Curious, they both turned their heads towards the center of camp, where the loud clanging of metal echoed. Sitiah turned to look at Thesh again, and then motioned to all waiting underneath the canopy to stay there. Then she turned and stepped out of the canopy.

Men in neat, white woven clothing stained by the desert, and metal armor carrying spears and battle axes filled their little camp, pulling people from tents. Sitiah rushed forward as a man with a broad chest shouted orders for everyone to stay quiet and listen.

"You are all now citizens of Egypt," he announced loudly as Sitiah stopped beside a girl a few years younger. "We have taken this land as is our right, in the name of our Pharaoh. As Egyptian citizens, you owe us your allegiance. You will give us everything we require: Food, water, and medical supplies. And you will all kneel down and swear your loyalty to Anedjib and united Egypt."

"No," came a sharp voice behind Sitiah. As the army shifted to look at this rebel and the people gasped, Sitiah groaned inwardly. Thesh came stumbling around her, and stopped just before the Egyptian warrior. "We are wanderers. We have no loyalty to any land, only to each other. We live together in balance with everything around us. We are no citizens of your country."

The Egyptian narrowed his dark eyes at Thesh, and then motioned the tip of his spear towards him. Two other men came forward, taking Thesh by the arms roughly. The jerking motion caused Thesh's leg to collapse, and soon he was on his knees. One of the men took Thesh by his thick, wild hair, and pulled back to expose his throat. As his people watched in horror and with cries for mercy as the Egyptian warrior took a dagger from his waist, Sitiah only frowned. And as Thesh's throat was slit and his dark blood poured down his chest and turned the sand black, Sitiah felt a coldness fill her.

She was very sorry for Thesh, but not because he now lay slowly, painfully dying, desperately fighting to breathe while he choked and drowned in his own lifeblood. She was sorry he was passing into the afterlife still owing a debt to the Dark One. Thesh had not lived to repay the magic given him, and now he would spend eternity in a great blackness, keenly aware of the passage of time, unable to ever rest. But that was what happened to those who made foolish, rash decisions.

While the camp cried as one as though they were a single being, the Egyptian warrior put his knife away and spoke loudly, "I demand what dried food you may have, what water you may have, and all medical supplies. And if any of you are skilled healers, you will come with us back to the camp of the Egyptian army."

A few of her people glanced at her fearfully, afraid of what would happen to her. But her heart was calm and her head clear as she stepped forward, he head held high. She approached the Egyptian warrior, standing close as though they were familiar with one another. "I am the most skilled healer in all the land," she said, her voice perfectly level and with no trace of arrogance. She knew she was speaking the truth. "I am, perhaps, the best healer in all the world. I will go with you and heal your soldiers."

The Egyptian examined her with narrow eyes, perhaps doubting her words due to her youth. But there was no question in her voice, no tremble to betray a lie. So he nodded, and motioned for her to follow him. As they left the camp, the other warriors raided, stealing what precious food, water and linen they had. Her people had learned to befriend and trade with many great cities to get what they needed, and they were trusted above all others, but now with nothing left to trade their future was uncertain.

Sitiah walked calmly, her eyes not wavering once from the man that led her. He took her to a chariot, and helped her step up before getting on behind her. She held on to the edges as she examined the other things around her, horses and wagons and worn-looking men who had travelled too far. It was only a small party, but this group could have very easily subdued the entire camp. It was, of course, for the best that Sitiah had chosen to leave without a fight. But Sitiah had never been one to choose the more difficult path.

After a time, the other men arrived and loaded the wagons, taking their places in them or atop the horses, and then they were off, riding into the desert through the abusive heat of the bright sun.

* * *

They arrived, finally, as the sun was beginning it's descent. The camp was much less organized than hers had been and everywhere men lay, groaning and crying out in the throes of agony. Sitiah dismounted and quickly approached, walking across the camp and looking down at each man, deciding whether he would live or die, who was deserving of her attention first, who it was she would save and when. When she was finished, she walked to the place where the men had unloaded her medical supplies, and opened a small chest and drew out a handful of crystals before looking to a few men.

"Take my supplies and place them in the center of the men, and then unwrap a few bandages and leave them nearby," she commanded. As the men objected, the leader of them stepped forward to silence them.

"Do as she says," he ordered them. "For the healing of the wounded, she is the commander." And then he turned to her, and had to tap her shoulder to get her attention as she was focused and setting the crystals in a certain pattern in her palm. She looked up at him in annoyance, but he pointed to a man that lay beneath a tent. "He must be the first."

Sitiah shook her head. "You ought to listen to your own words," she said with annoyance. "I am the commander now. I will treat who I will treat, and when I will treat them."

"He is our general," he countered.

Sitiah shook her head. "All men are the same to me, none worth more than another. I will treat those who need it most before any other."

The commander took a sharp breath and said loudly, "He was hand-chosen by the Pharaoh himself! You cannot let him die!"

She had already turned her attention back to her crystals. "He is low on my list because he will not die before I come to him. You brought me here so that the best healer in the world could treat your wounded men. I will not tell you how to lead an army. You must let me do my work."

With that, she stood and walked out to the center of the camp, and then knelt down and carefully pressed the crystals between her palms, and then raised her face to the sky, her eyes open wide. Her Dark One was not one to choose one man over another, either. He would answer her prayers for the Egyptians as he had those who worshipped him.

After her prayers for the ability to heal all who needed it, she stood and collected a stick of incense, and lit it in the fire that was already going, heating a thick pot that held some sort of foul-smelling stew. She then waved the incense over her head as she walked in slow circles around the camp. The commander seemed anxious that she get to work, but he knew interrupting her would do no good.

When finished, Sitiah threw the stick into the flames, and then turned to the commander and explained, "I cast a few spells on your uninjured soldiers for strength and courage. They will be able to carry on, even while the injured men recover. Feed your uninjured this food you have cooked, but give none to the wounded. I will feed them what they need to gain strength."

The commander agreed, and Sitiah set to work on a grievously injured soldier, though he most certainly did not carry the worst of the wounds.

"Why do you begin with him? Surely some of the others-"

Sitiah took up the plate of raw meat and a linen bag filled with little stones and said, "The other men will die. There is no sense in prolonging their suffering."

The commander's face went gray, and he went to one of the youngest of the injured soldiers, one who would never be touched by Sitiah, and took his hand and whispered to the boy. Sitiah ignored the man and placed a piece of dark stone in the mouth of the wounded man she worked on. She leaned in so close that her lips brushed his ear. "Keep it in there until morning." And then she went to work on his wounds.

She repeated this process time and again, until finally she came to the general in his tent. With her she carried a few small jars and the nearly-empty bag of little stones. She knelt beside him and examined the gash across his thick, broad chest filled with strong muscles before glancing only half-heartedly at his face. His features were oddly well-balanced, placed on his face as though it were deliberate. His hair was thick and long, parts of it braided. His eyes were full of pride and a hot anger that was not directed at her, nor perhaps any other person in the world.

"It took long enough," he sighed, and perhaps some of the anger _was_ directed at her.

Her eyes left his face as she opened the bag of stones. "Perhaps I ought to have left more of your men to die?" she asked, her voice detachedly curious.

Again, the general sighed, and he let his head fall back against the blanket roll beneath it. "No. You made the right choice," he admitted, though he sounded as though he held a grudge against her for it.

Feeling that the conversation was over, Sitiah withdrew another stone from her bag, and held it before the general's closed mouth. She waited for him to open it, but he only stared at her with his intense, fiery eyes.

"What is it?" he asked finally.

Annoyed, Sitiah held the stone closer. "Black tourmaline. It will assist in the healing of your wounds."

He raised one of his long, sculpted eyebrows. "In my mouth?"

Sitiah kept her gaze on his eyes. "Yes. You had your men bring me here away from my people to be your healer, and you trust me to heal your wounded men. Either you trust me now to know what to do for you, or you do not care for your men and refuse to be treated the same as them for fear I have killed them all. Which is it?"

The general paused for a moment, and slowly lowered his brow. "You have fire," he complimented her. "I like that. I wi-"

She did not wait for him to finish speaking before shoving the stone into his mouth. He coughed for a moment and looked at her with clear irritation, but she had already begun to treat the wound across his chest. He watched her silently as she applied fresh meat his men had hunted, and threaded a needle. He reached his hand up to remove the stone from his mouth, and she quickly and viciously slapped his hand down. He laughed and moved his hand again, and this time she remained focused on her task.

"Am I allowed to know what my healer is called?" he asked, his voice full of confidence. She hated his assumption that he could have anything he asked for, so for a moment she refused, and instead shoved a piece of ginger into his mouth.

But then she realized the inconvenience of only being called 'healer', and she said, "I am called Sitiah," and then stabbed her needle of bone into his chest. His fist closed around the stone as he bit down on the ginger, but he made no sound. She sewed the part of the wound that was too wide to ever close naturally, and then removed the ginger.

"Matthias," he said. She turned to him with an expression of confusion, and he grinned. "My name. Matthias."

"Your name does not matter to me," breathed Sitiah as she applied a thick, stinking salve across his wound and the skin surrounding it, her hands firm and her skin soft and they moved expertly across his bare chest.

Matthias smirked. "Perhaps it will tonight."

Sitiah gave no response in words or expression. She finished her work, and collected her things before standing. Before she left the tent, she looked back.

"You can keep the stone in your mouth, or not at your discretion. It matters not at all to me what you choose." And then she was gone.

* * *

The night was thick as Sitiah retired to her bed. She had been given a small bedroll near the edge of camp, and she collected a few of her things with her. The men had insisted that most of her medical supplies remain in the center of camp, but a few of her crystals, dried herbs and salves came with her, along with a large container of beer. She had refused the stew and ate only what she had brought, some ginger that burned her mouth, a slice of thick and hard bread, and a handful of dried berries. Her stomach ached for more, but though she had eaten nothing else the entire day, she refused to take food from the Egyptians.

Matthias had tried to insist she share a bowl of stew with him in his private tent, and when she told him he was not to touch the stew, he asked her to join him for a drink of beer instead. She again refused, and that had been when she left the fireside and went to her cold corner of the camp.

Sitiah lay in the bed as she watched the stars, and her fingers played with the amulet around her neck as she muttered prayer after prayer to the Dark One. She listened as one by one the men left the campfire and went to sleep, and when the night was silent and the dark was deepening, it began.

The first sound echoed from across the camp, a loud choking sound. Another soon followed, and then another, and soon the camp was filled with nothing but the sound of throats closing and air desperately trying to get out of Egyptian lungs.

Sitiah stood and gathered her things, placing them in a bag she'd swiped from Matthias's tent when he wasn't looking, and she began to walk across the camp towards the place where the horses were tied, shifting from hoof to hoof, neighing nervously.

The wounded men sat up and looked around themselves, panicked and unsure, their own lungs clear and throats open. Sitiah heard the first man fall as she stepped over the corpse of a man she had not had time to save.

A man nearby gasped 'healer', and shouted, "What is happening to them?!"

There was no reason nor any time to stop and explain to the wounded that the stones they had held in their mouths had saved them from the curse she had laid, and the poison she had slipped into the stew while she had lit the stick of incense. There was no reason to tell them that the spirit of the Dark One had felt the protection around them and had passed over them, only because she had chosen them to live. No reason to tell them that they had been spared only because they were too wounded to chase her.

As Sitiah untied a brown horse, Matthias stumbled from his tent, "Sitiah!" he shouted.

She ignored him as she crawled towards her, and ignored his roar of anger when the second man dropped dead, his own blood gushing from his mouth. "What did you do?!" he demanded.

Again, there was no reason to respond, so Sitiah kept quiet. She swung her legs over the horse, and nudged it forward to run across the sands. She did not know where her camp was, and it didn't really matter. The Egyptians belonged to a land, and the people of her camp belonged to each other. She belonged only to the Dark One, and he would lead her where she needed to go.

The Egyptian camp was quickly becoming nothing but a red and black spot behind her, but still she could hear Matthias's cry of rage.

* * *

The days passed slowly, painfully, and emptily. Sitiah was in the desert alone, with no way of knowing where she was or where she was going, and could only pass her time praying and working with what little herbs she had. She cleansed her crystals, crushed the mandrake down to a fine powder, cut her ginger down to strips and infused her salves with spells. Her mind threatened to leave her in the endless heat and sand, with no sign or relief or people in sight. But she clung to her amulet and her prayers and made it through three days with little trouble. Her legs and back ached, and she was worried the horse may soon die without water and she would have to walk until she found people, but she knew her god would not abandon her. The Dark One would keep her safe in the desert, and would guide her to an oasis or a city that would take her in.

But neither came to pass. She woke from her bed of sand one night to the neighing of horses. She looked to her horse, and saw it lying in the sand, it's breath stopped. The neighing grew louder, and she looked around herself. In the deep darkness, she could see movement. As she watched, twenty men approached, most on horseback, some in a wooden wagon dragged behind the horses. Sitiah sighed, and gathered her things to her, and stood and waited for the men to approach.

At the lead of the men was Matthias. He leapt from the horse before it came to a full stop, and pulled a dagger from his waist. He approached her, his head as high and eyes as full of pride as were hers.

"The healer Sitiah," he said, his voice loud enough to fill the desert. "The murderer Sitiah. You have been captured by Egypt, and will be brought to Egypt to be imprisoned, to await execution."

"Why?" she asked matter-of-factly. "Why would you wait until you arrive in a city in Egypt to put me to death? Your men have no qualms in killing men with no hesitation. Why wait to spill my blood?"

Matthias paused, and that pause told Sitiah what she needed to know. She knew the curiosity in his eyes. He wanted to know how she had killed his men without touching them.

But what he said was, "You provided services to the Pharaoh. It is only his right to choose to end your life."

The corner of Sitiah's mouth turned upward, and she slowly rolled her bare shoulders back to stretch them. The corner of her mouth moved further upward when she saw Matthias notice the movement. "Very well. Whose horse should I ride?" she asked slowly, her tongue then moving to wet her lips.

Matthias's brow twitched upward for so brief a moment she almost didn't notice. "Mine," he responded, speaking just as slowly. "I need to keep my eyes on you."

Sitiah nodded and stepped towards his large, black horse. "Very well. Make sure you watch me closely. You may miss something important."

They rode a few more hours through the night before stopping to make camp. Matthias insisted she sleep in his tent with him, and tied ropes around her ankles and wrists. Her heated gaze and heaving chest said all; she did not need to speak a word.

The next day they continued their ride northward, stopping only twice to rest. She did not speak, though Matthias asked her questions about how she had killed his men, how she had healed the injured so quickly, how she had so much power, and how could he have this power for himself. She said nothing. The time wasn't right yet. When she changed into clean garments that night, she didn't bother to hide herself from his gaze.

It was the following afternoon that they found the Nile. The men praised their own gods in relief, knowing that they had finally arrived home alive. Sitiah watched dispassionately, as did Matthias. In fact, she noticed something harder around his eyes now that they had arrived in settled Egypt. She leaned further back into his chest as they rode on his horse.

When they camped for that night, she again went to his tent, and found him anxious and incapable of sitting still. Sitiah stepped forward, holding a jar of beer in each hand. She offered one to the Egyptian general. "To calm your nerves," she said, the first words she had spoken in the days since she had been captured. Matthias barely seemed to notice as he reached for it, and drank the entire contents so quickly Sitiah was concerned he would be sick. She sipped her own as he called out to the men outside the tent to bring him another. He soon had another jar in his hands, but this one he drank slower.

"Not happy to be home, _Matthias_?" she said his name slowly, as though savoring it.

Matthias grunted and knelt to the ground. She sat behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them to release the tightness of the tension in his muscles. He seemed distrustful at first, and then sighed and relaxed in her grip. "Egypt is not my home," he confided in her. "I was a citizen of Kash long before I was a citizen of Egypt. But I heard of the mighty power of Egypt and longed to join it, and the great generals heard of my great skills in fighting and strategy. I was brought into Egypt at a young age, but I have always known that I am not Egyptian, and it is not my home. I have no home."

Sitiah listened closely to his words, her grip on his shoulders growing stronger. "You have allegiance to no land, just as I do." Her voice was just a warm whisper in his ear.

He nodded. "My allegiance is to myself, and myself alone. And it has occurred to me that returning to Egypt with less than half of the men I left with will not do much good for me, even if I return with the witch who killed most of my band."

"A witch?" Sitiah formed the words carefully. "I have never been called that before. I am a healer, and a worshipper of my god, and nothing more."

Matthias snorted. "I have never heard of a healer that could cause men to choke and drown in their own blood," he said, almost laughing. "How do you come by such power?"

She said, "But I have heard of men who cause other men to choke and drown in their own blood. I did the same, only in another manner. What does it matter how?"

He turned to look at her eyes, their faces so close together she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. "I want your power."

Sitiah allowed him a smirk, and leaned in a little closer. "That's not all you want," she said.

She didn't need to move or to speak again. His mouth was on hers before she could draw in another breath. His strong arms wrapped around her body and pressed it against his, pushing painfully against her. She pushed back against him, hands first flat against his chest, and then moving skillfully to remove his clothing. He released her to give her more freedom to tug the fabric loose from his body, and then his long fingers moved to do the same to her. They undressed each other, her with gaining urgency, he with slowing movements. At last they came to only two items, her amulet, his great golden bracelet.

Pausing, Sitiah reached for his wrist to examine the ornament. The gold was polished to so great a shine it nearly hurt her eyes to look at it. It was so large in size that it nearly covered his whole forearm. The shape of it was of an enormous scorpion with a mean, curved tail, yet it had the face of an anteater with a curving, wicked tongue.

Her dark eyes moved slowly to his face, and she held his wrist up to his eye level, and asked curiously, "What is this?"

Matthias half-smiled, the lids of his eyes lowering. "It was given to me by my father before I left for Egypt. It was made in Egypt long ago, and my ancestor was given it in payment for his medical services. Intimidating, is it not?"

Sitiah's eyes moved over the golden creature again. "Why does it have the wrong face?"

Shrugging his broad shoulders lazily, he replied, "I don't know for certain. The face is likely of Set, the god that killed his brother for the throne of Egypt."

"Set?" she repeated carefully. A familiarity flashed her eyes, and then she moved to remove the bracelet.

Matthias pulled his arm away. "I do not remove it."

She frowned for a moment, and then wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his passionately. They fell back on his blankets, hands and mouths covering each other, and with each second she gained speed and he lost it.

Finally, Matthias's eyes shut. He lay still for a moment, and then fought to open his eyes again and glare up at her. "What did you do to me, witch?" he demanded harshly, though his voice had little energy in it.

Sitiah leaned away from him, and reached behind her into a small bowl he had not noticed her carrying. She lifted a fistful of some substance and then let the fine powder fall slowly back into the bowl. She turned back to him with a smile.

"Mandrake powder," she informed him. "It can put any man to sleep. Of course, it was a great help that you drank that beer as quickly as you could."

Furious, Matthias began to stand, but fell over each time he tried. He fell back, his breathing heavy, his eyes closed. He tried to shout, but could only manage a whisper before sleep finally took him.

Sitiah reached out with her foot and nudged his chest to be certain he was asleep. And then, quickly, she dressed in his clothing. She moved to take the great golden bracelet from his sleeping body, but hesitated. She looked up at the man's face, his expression not quite restful but not quite violent, either. And she chose to leave the bracelet with him.

Pulling the front of the tent apart a little, Sitiah looked around the camp. There were only a few men, far off, still drinking and laughing obnoxiously. They were clearly drunk. All others were asleep. Matthias's horse was not far away. She gathered what little she had and put it in a bag as quickly as she could.

Carefully, she crept out of the tent, and then gained confidence with each step, straightening her back and standing as tall as she could, adopting the unique swagger that Matthias walked with. When the men spotted her from far away, they only raised their jars of beer to her. She gave them a sharp, dismissive wave with the arm Matthias did not wear the bracelet on.

The horse didn't mind when she took its master's place atop it. And then she turned, and off she road into the desert.

* * *

 **Artificial:** And there's the start of our story! I hope you enjoyed it, despite it's flaws. Please leave a review, it really helps me grow as a writer. Thank you!


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Note:** So, I literally forgot I was uploading this. I am so sorry. Life, you know?

So I won't keep you. I hope you enjoy chapter two.

* * *

Nephthys

Chapter Two

Seven Years Later

Memphis

The Capital of Unified Egypt

The building in which Sitiah lived and worked was quite small. There was only one larger room in the front, and two smaller rooms side-by-side in the back. The larger one was hardly big enough to contain everything it was forced to hold, and was brimming with dried herbs, animal claws, powders, crystals, pages of papyrus, incense, small statues, amulets, linens, needles made of bone, jars filled with various foul-smelling liquid and other such odds and ends. In one of the smaller rooms there was only space for a fire with a large pot over it, and in the other a few blankets and buckets in various places on the floor.

In the larger room stood Sitiah, now called Nebthet, dressed in fine clothes nearly fit for royalty, and exotic jewelry for which the royalty could only dream. Her hair was loose, made straight by heavy hair potions given her by one of her many admirers. In her hands she held the skull of a crocodile, given to her by another of the admirers. She examined it carefully for marks made by weapons, but found none. Her triumphant smile was cut short by the opening of her door.

Nebthet turned, and saw a man touched by age, his hair white and his step careful, but with the fire of youth in his eyes. His fragile frame shook a little as he closed the door behind him.

"Nebthet?" he asked uncertainly, as though she had not carved her name into the wood of the door.

Nebthet set aside the skull. "Yes?"

The man eyed the contents of her little business with a wary eye. "What – what sort of physician are you?"

Sighing, Nebthet replied, "I do not adhere to the Egyptian way of thinking. I specialize in no one thing; I practice many healing arts for many parts of the body. I give healing herbs, salves and potions for any malady, along with spells, enchantments, incantations, poisons, amulets or physical love to anyone who can pay."

"What payment do you ask for?" the man wondered.

As she spoke, Nebthet moved around the room, putting the things she had cleaned and examined in their proper places. "I accept food, beer, water, jewelry, ingredients or information. I have no need of currency. I will only accept what I can use."

The older man stepped further into the shop, looking around at all the curiosities she kept. "What sort of information?"

"Secrets," she said, sweeping dried flowers from her table into a jar. "I often deal in important secrets, though I will also accept any new information on the god Set."

The man hesitated, clearly uncertain what to ask about first, her admittance to treason or her admittance to near blasphemy. Finally, he said, "What is your interest in Set?"

Slowly, Nebthet paused. She looked up at the man's face and examined it quickly, and she didn't take her eyes from it for a long time, watching every small reaction as though reading his face. Not allowing herself to hope, she said, "I believe that Set is the Egyptian name for the Dark One of my own people, the god I have worshipped and served all my life. It is my life's purpose to find his tomb and give his body the proper burial he deserved, by which I believe I will return the god to his full power, and he will take his place amongst the great and powerful and be given the worship he is owed, for being one of the first of beings, and for providing Re protection through the dark land."

The man seemed stunned. It took him a moment to find words, during which Nebthet's intense eyes never moved from his countenance. "You – you are quite honest. What compels you to be so open?"

Disappointed at his apparent lack of information on Set, Nebthet continued to clear the table of items, quickly stashing jars of flowers and dried scarab beetles and cattle eyes and a mixture of onions and wine onto shelves very quickly. "I have no reason to lie. And I believe that honesty buys honesty; now that I have been honest with you, you will be honest with me."

The man slowly made his way to a rickety chair stashed in the corner and lowered himself into it. "I am an advisor to the Pharaoh Semerkhet," he confessed, rubbing his hands together as though he were cold.

"Yes, Rudjek, I know who you are," she said cooly.

Rudjek was taken back for a moment, and then said, "The Pharaoh is, of course, born from the gods, but he is also young and inexperienced. He has been Pharaoh only these last two years, whereas the attempted usurper Matthias has been at war with Egypt for five long years. The Pharaoh has promised to send the rebel to the afterlife, but he cannot prove his words with a clear and direct plan."

The corners of Nebthet's mouth lifted at the name of Matthias. She turned from the advisor so he could not see her pleasure at the mention of the rebel. Part of her had known that after her escape, Matthias would not return to Egypt as a loyal subject. She had been delighted when she heard of the traitor building an army against Egypt. Though she lived there, she had no loyalty to the land that had attacked her people. She had no loyalty to anyone but Set. Though the fall of Egypt would be inconvenient to her, seeing it suffer some was not unpleasant.

"Go on," she encouraged Rudjek as she opened a chest and searched though a pile of vials made of stone and ivory.

"I am looking for something that will give our great Pharaoh the courage and wisdom he needs to finally put an end to this blood-stained war," the advisor continued. "Something that will take the place of the experience he needs, of the interest in strategy he lacks. The Pharaoh is too concerned with the caring of his people, and sometimes he forgets that to care for them he must destroy their enemies." He paused a moment, and then admitted, "I do not know what you can do for him. But if there is anything, I will take it at whatever price you name."

Nebthet seized a golden vial from the chest, and stood and turned to the advisor, walking forward quickly and holding it out so he could see the fine quality of the gold. "I have in here," she began, "A potion that will give your Pharaoh a clear head for strategy, and the courage to defeat all the armies of the world. Pour it into his wine, and within hours he will be a man ready for battle. I will give it to your Pharaoh for nothing. It is important for my business that he not lose this fight."

Rudjek's eyes lit up as he reached for the vial, but Nebthet held it just out of his reach. Realizing that there was still something she wanted, Rudjek's hands folded in his lap.

"What else is it that you want?"

Nebthet smiled. "There is something else I can offer. A spell that will give the Pharaoh's armies the same courage, and more strength than Matthias's army can ever hope to have for themselves. This I do not offer freely."

"What payment do you ask for that?"

Nebthet handed Rudjek the vial. "Do you have information on where Set may be buried?"

Rudjek paused. "I do not," he admitted, "But I can give you an introduction to the High Priest, who is in direct communication with the gods themselves."

Shaking her head, Nebthet dismissed the idea. "The High Priest would never help me look for the tomb of Set." She stepped back to her table, ready to send the advisor away. Clearly, he could not help her.

Rudjek stood. "He would if the Pharaoh commanded it," he said quickly, "And if you help him win his war, I am certain the Pharaoh would grant you whatever you wished for your great contributions."

With a critical eye, Nebthet examined Rudjek. He seemed a truthful man. It was clear he believed what he was saying. It was impossible to tell if what he said was really true, though. She had never met the Pharaoh. She had only heard that he was a strong Pharaoh, but one that gave too much emphasis on the well-being of his people over the conquest of foreign countries and the power of his armies. Though Egypt was the most powerful country she had ever heard of, he could very well lose the war without help. Should Matthias rule the land, she would most certainly have to flee again, and find another country to build her business in, starting completely anew. She didn't want to waste her time with that. And it would most certainly take her far from the tomb of her god.

So she turned and took up a small, brimmed plate, and a needle made of bone, and approached the advisor to the Pharaoh. "I will take as collateral a drop of your blood. If you are true to your word, you have nothing to fear. If you do not give me the payment you have promised, however, I will curse your blood and there will be nowhere you can escape from the agony but within death itself. Are we in agreement?"

The older man rubbed his hands together again, and then nodded. He offered his hand palm-up, and she pricked his finger. He hissed at the pain, and she took the drop of blood onto the plate, and then went back to the chest and set it inside. She closed the lid and locked the chest, and then turned back.

"You have the vial. I will perform the spell. You may leave now," she said sharply, hoping he felt the danger in her words, and promise to give him unending pain should he betray her trust.

Rudjek seemed to understand. He nodded, and quickly went out the door. With a soft sigh, Nebthet returned to her work, taking a sharp knife and approaching the skull of the crocodile. She was about to begin scraping bone off when her door opened again.

Unused to having another customer so quickly, Nebthet turned to face the man that had entered with surprise. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. She could not see his face, for a hood was drawn so far over his head that she could only see shadow and the bare outline of features. He said nothing.

"What is it you want, then?" she demanded. She ran her fingers through her hair in impatience, pulling the hair from her face.

Slowly, the man removed the hood, revealing a familiar face that - though she took pleasure in- she never wanted to see again.

"Matthias," she hissed. He held a finger to his lips to quiet her, but she would not be silenced. "How did you find me?"

The rebel walked inside with such confidence it appeared as though he owned the building. "I heard of a powerful, beautiful, foreign witch that could supply a man with anything he wanted, for a price. It could be no one but you." His hungry eyes looked her up and down, and then he said, "You changed your name. Nebthet, for the Egyptian goddess of witchcraft. It would be a fitting name, if I held any love for the existence of Egypt."

Nebthet held the knife as a weapon now, eyes narrowing on the face of her enemy. "What is it you want, Matthias? You know I will destroy you if you try to hurt me."

Matthias laughed. "Yes. I remember," he said. He wandered the room, looking at the objects on the shelves, touching some of the ones he found interesting. "I have come with a deal in mind. I heard the deal the old man offered you, and I can give you better."

She lowered the knife the smallest amount. "Do you know where to find Set's tomb?"

Slowly, Matthias shook his head. "No, however…I can help you much more than that advisor can," he said confidently. "You can depend on the word of an old man – who may not even live to see the end of the war – and hope that the Pharaoh will hear you, and that he will agree to command the High Priest to do whatever a witch wants him to do, and that the High Priest will help you find the tomb of a god that is the enemy to the house of Pharaoh, and that the gods will listen to your request and assist you in finding the tomb of their darkest and most power-hungry of siblings, and that you will then be allowed to do whatever you wish with the knowledge of the tomb's location, or you can align yourself with me."

Nebthet followed Matthias's movements around the room with the point of her knife. "And what will you give me?"

Again, Matthias smiled. "If you assist my warriors instead of Egypt's, and give me the secrets you know of the Pharaoh, and come with me to be my personal medicine woman, then I will give you exactly what you desire. I will use my travels around Egypt to search for the tomb, and if it is not found by the time I become Pharaoh, I will dedicate a team of priests and scribes to search continuously for it, until the day it is found. And once it is found you will own the land and will be free to do with it whatever you wish. You will be Pharaoh of that land, and no one will question your authority over it."

He now stood so close to her that the tip of the knife nearly touched his chest. She found his words to be truthful, and more, logical. She could not depend on the elderly advisor to help her gain control of Set's tomb, nor on the House which was the enemy of her god. But Matthias was also the enemy of the house of Pharaoh. She could not trust him, but she could trust his determination to dismantle the royalty of Egypt. And, she had to admit as she admired shamelessly his broad chest, strong arms and chiseled face, she found the man as attractive as the offer.

She lowered the knife. There was one last concern. "My people would never have agreed to become Egyptian citizens. What is it you believe happened to them?"

"Dead, every one," he said without hesitation. "If Egypt cannot conquer, it destroys. They would not have lived as anything but loyal citizens of Egypt. They were slaughtered."

A bitter taste filled her mouth and hatred filled her throat. She set the knife on the table beside her. "If you give your word, I will give mine, and together we will destroy the house of Pharaoh and conquer Egypt."

"You have my word," he offered freely. She nodded her head in agreement, and then retreated to a room in the back to bring out an empty trunk.

"I will need some of my things," she said. "You should help me. The faster we move, the better. No one can know I am leaving until I am gone."

Matthias followed her with his eyes as she quickly packed away jars, cloth bags and amulets. "If the advisor knows you are leaving Egypt, he will have you executed. We ought to wait until sundown to leave."

Nebthet shook her head. "No. It is at night that they watch me, suspicious as they are. No one will mind if they see me leaving during the day, assuming I am going to gather more ingredients and will be back. But at night they will believe I am going to curse the whole country with famine and they will alert someone to stop me."

Shrugging, Matthias began helping her, bringing potions for her to either place in the trunk or to shove away impatiently. She brought with her very little of her precious things; she left behind jewelry of gold and turquoise and lapis lazuli, fine-woven clothing that would make the Princess envious, exquisite and rare perfumes and oils, and piles of small bars and rings of silver, copper and gold that were the currency in Egypt. Instead, she brought with her dried flowers, animal skulls, ginger and garlic and other medicinal spices, bags of crystals and jars of salves. She brought everything she would need as a healer among an army, and discarded all that which would have given her prominence among the citizens of Egypt.

Lastly, she opened a cupboard and retrieved a living duck. She tied a string to it's foot, and kept hold of one end while she packed it's food and it's feeding dishes.

"You have a duck?" Matthias asked, amused. "We do not have much room for pets, I'm afraid."

Nebthet gave him a dark look. "She provides me with eggs, which will treat your men of many maladies as well as give them nutrition, and when food is scarce she will supply us with meat. We will be taking her with us."

Matthias chose not to argue with her, and instead shut and locked her chest. "Are we ready, then?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Nebthet paused and looked around her small shop for anything else she may need, and then took up the crocodile skull and the knife. "Yes. We should go now."

Before moving towards the door, Matthias paused. "You are not very sentimental. This is the second time you've left your home without a second thought."

She was already walking out the door. "I do not have time nor energy for sentiment," she spat. "This place is only walls and ceiling and shelves and useless items, nothing more. It is, perhaps, past time I left it."

* * *

They arrived at the camp late the next day, exhausted from both the trek and the heat. The men gathered around to take their things, and bring them water. It felt nearly impossible to move, but somehow they made it to Matthias's tent, and both collapsed inside. They stared at the top of the tent wordlessly for a time, before Nebthet turned to look at him.

"How much time will it be until my own tent is ready?" she breathed.

Matthias managed half a smirk. "None at all. You will be staying here."

"No," replied Nebthet without hesitation. "I will not. I will have my own tent."

She watched the lines of Matthias's face change as his expression went from exhaustion to amusement. "No," he replied slowly, "The previous times you were in my camp, you killed the majority of my men, or you drugged me. I will need to keep a close eye on you until I know you are trustworthy."

The edges of Nebthet's mouth turned up. "You will never know that I am trustworthy. I have never pretended to be so."

Matthias turned his head to look at her. She felt a thorough examination of her eyes, and then a deeper look at her soul. He searched it as easily as he had searched her eyes, and Nebthet felt as though she could not hide anything from him. But it was short-lived, and she knew he had not found everything he had wanted to find.

"Then you will stay indefinitely," he said, the mirth gone from his eyes.

They both lay still then, eyes on each other's, breathing deeply, trying to fill their lungs with enough air to chase away the burning sensation in their lungs. When she finally felt that she could speak without hurting herself further, she decided to take advantage of it.

"Why do you want Egypt so much? What is it you think it will give you?"

She felt more than heard Matthias's snort. "Power, of course. Egypt is the most powerful country in all the world, which makes Pharaoh the most powerful man in existence. How could I not want that?"

She shook her head. "No. You are not so shallow a person that you desire power and nothing else. Do not lie to me; it is nothing but a waste of your time and mine."

Matthias released a slow breath, and his eyes traveled away from her face to stare at some place behind her head. "I told you that I am not of Egypt. I grew up in Kash, in a small house with three other brothers. I was the youngest, and the least distinguished of my brothers. They began earning their own income at young ages, and when I was that age I only drew pictures in the sand. The day my eldest brother married a highly respected artisan's daughter, I was in trouble for drawing with a stick on the ground outside his house. But a general had attended the celebrations, and he looked at my drawing and asked my parents what else I had drawn. He recognized them for what they were."

Nebthet whispered, "What were they?"

Matthias smiled, the first genuine smile she had seen on his face. It was almost dizzyingly beautiful. "Plans. Strategic plans. I was drawing exactly what the general would have drawn to make a plan of attack. He told our king, and I was brought into the schools of military and strategy a few years earlier than the other men there had joined. I learned quickly, and impressed my teachers, and stories soon spread about the young military strategist who was outshining his elders. That was when the Pharaoh sent his men. They came with spears in one hand and precious stones in the other, determined to have me in their army whatever way was necessary. I had no choice in the matter. I was torn from my family, my home, and all my possessions and was brought to Egypt and forced to raise up their armies. And then a few years later, I was forced to plan the destruction of my own country. I was given no choice but to lead the soldiers into my home village and watch them kill the people I once knew, or to die for treason. Treason – as though I was betraying my own country by refusing to kill the people of the country I was born in!" Rage built in his voice with each word, and she watched him clench his fists to stop the shaking. "I did it, of course. My loyalty is to myself. But I swore I would have vengeance one day. One day, I would take the Pharoah's home from him, and I would force him to watch as I executed each man that had ordered the deaths of the people of my home. That is why I want Egypt. I want to take it, dismantle the true house of Pharaoh, and make my own." He looked at her again, his eyes darkly amused. "And, as I said, Pharaoh is the most powerful man on earth. I want all the power I can have, so that no one can ever force me to do anything against my will ever again."

Nebthet turned her eyes to his, and now she searched his soul in the way he had searched hers. She could see his genuine desire for justice for his people, as well as a vicious need for revenge, and a deep thirst for power. He spoke the truth with every word.

She tilted her head a little as she looked at his face. "You told me everything about your tragic childhood," she stated, "And about your plans for Egypt, and yet you call me untrustworthy."

Matthias paused a moment, clearly thinking through each of his words to see if there was anything that she could use against him. Then he waved his hand dismissively. "How else can I earn trust but to give it? And if you were to attempt to betray me," he added, "I have said nothing the Pharaoh does not know. His father would have told him everything."

Nebthet slowly sat up and turned to look down at Matthias. "Knowledge is a very powerful thing," she said carefully. "You should remember that, if you are to be Pharaoh one day. Any information can be used against someone, if they know how."

Matthias sat up as well. "Do you know how?"

Slowly, she smiled, something genuine she rarely revealed. "Of course I do, Matthias. I know everything."

* * *

 **Artificial:** I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Remember, reviews of all kinds are more than welcome!


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: Uploading on time, who would have believed it?

A great big thank-you to Lindsay for the review! It's so good to know that this story isn't in a void. I enjoyed writing it and I would upload regardless, but the fact that someone is reading (and, miraculously, doesn't seem to think the writing is completely awful) is a blessing.

Enjoy!

* * *

Nephthys

Chapter Three

Three Years Later

Upper Egypt

Wilderness Outside Memphis

There was hardly enough moonlight in the tent to see, but it was enough for Matthias and Nebthet to see each other's fingers entwining and releasing and entwining again as they lay side-by-side and unashamedly nude, save for the sparkle of gold around his wrist and the dark amulet against her breasts. Their fingers tangled together as their legs were, and their chests moved up and down heavily as they still worked to catch their breath.

This hadn't been the first time they had shared physical love. It hadn't been long after Nebthet joined their cause that she undressed before him and demanded he take her, tired of the tension between them when it was clear they were meant to be wholly united. He hadn't hesitated to follow her demand, and it was made an almost nightly ritual. With her spells, they had never had to worry about conceiving a child. They could enjoy each other's company fully.

She had never confessed to having sentimental feelings for him, but Matthias had no doubt, with the way she glanced at him when she thought he wasn't looking, the tender attention she gave his wounds, her full dedication to his cause and the soft kisses she gave him, that she felt the same love for him as he felt for her. He was less shy about announcing his deep emotions for her, his passion for each part of her. He was unapologetically possessive, but she didn't seem to mind.

The word 'love' was never used, but so many others were, mostly by him. She preferred the word 'attachment', and sometimes 'adoration', but he suspected she was only too guarded to say anything else. It didn't matter. Their physical expression made everything non-physical clear enough.

Including the tenderness in the movements of their hands, the caressing of their fingers, the long, contented sighs moving past their dry lips.

"I want more of you," Matthias announced, catching her hand in his.

Nebthet languidly turned her head towards him, and kissed him softly on the mouth. "So soon?"

Matthias shook his head. "No. What I mean is, I want more of _you._ I want more of your words, your history, and your secrets. I want you to more fully belong to me, and for me to more fully belong to you."

Nebthet turned her head away and looked at his tight, unyielding grip on her hand. He lowered her fingers to his mouth and kissed each one individually.

Finally, she said, "Very well. Let us draw closer by exchanging secrets. You will hold a part of me no one else in all of existence will have, and I will have something of you that will belong to me and me alone."

Matthias considered her offer, and then smiled. His smile dazzled her in ways she could never explain in something as simple as words. "Very well," he said. "Tell me. How did you come to have such powerful magic?"

She pressed her lips together, clearly not wanting to speak. It wasn't the sort of question she had wanted. She saw no reason to be dishonest about herself in any situation save for this one. However, Matthias was the one person she had ever wanted to share herself with. Nebthet finally, slowly, drew in a breath to answer.

"It is not _my_ power," she admitted. "With magic, you never have your own power, you only borrow it. Humankind was never meant to hold it naturally; we are too impulsive, too careless, and magic is too powerful for us to have for ourselves. However, if we show our dedication and willingness to be submissive to another's will, a god will sometimes lend us their power. Human channeling of a god's power is called magic."

Matthias's watched Nebthet's mouth move with fascination. "How does one receive the honor of a god's power?"

"You must first choose the god you will follow," she began with a deep authority in her voice, "And then you must give them an offering. The level of sacrifice your offering requires shows how much of their power you want to possess."

"How do you show the god your offering?"

Nebthet's eyes wandered from his face to the top of the tent, searching it as though she could see the stars through it. "You must perform a ritual, and offer up something physical that you own, and then you must make a sacrifice. If you survive the ritual, you will be given the power you requested, and you must bind that power to an object and keep the object with you always, as a symbol of your devotion. If you lose the object on purpose, you have forsaken your vow and will be destroyed. If the object leaves you, then your god has forsaken you and you will be left powerless."

As she felt Matthias's eyes leave her face and travel to her breasts, she knew she had made a mistake. Her expression turned sharp and primal as Matthias picked up the black cobra amulet and held it in his fingers. She felt something bitter in the back of her throat as she came to the full realization that she had given away the source of her power. As his mouth formed a smirk, her muscles tensed, and she felt like a wild thing ready to strike. But he released the amulet and lay back again, placing his arm under his head.

"How did you come to have the power?"

Nebthet forced herself to calm, the buzzing energy leaving her body with each breath, the muscles relaxing and her breath settling before she answered. "For my ritual, I took the most poisonous cobra I could find, and forced it to strike me. When I miraculously recovered, I could feel the power vibrating in my veins, and the knowledge of incantations in my mind. The amulet lay beside me, and I took it and bound my power to it, to forever carry it with me."

Listening intently, Matthias lifted himself on his arm so he could turn and look down on her. "Could one become as powerful as a god?" he asked.

Nebthet sat up fully and very suddenly, and with her dark hair falling over her face, she looked Matthias in eyes, her own full of an almost deadly seriousness. "I am as powerful as one should ever choose to become. I swore to serve the Dark One all my life, and to do his bidding whenever he should command it. As such I have more power than any mortal should hope to have," she told him sharply. But then, her voice softer, she said, "Yes, there is a way. It is a very similar ritual, but it differs in important ways. You can only request to borrow _some_ of the god's power and knowledge for a short time, to support one cause that you choose. When your cause is complete, the god will come and claim your soul. You must swear to serve the god for all eternity, not only for the whole of your mortal life, and you will be made a mindless slave that is forced to do whatever the god wishes. Only then, when you are enslaved, will you have the god's full power."

Matthias listened, enraptured. Looking through his eyes and into his soul, she knew that her words had damned him for eternity. Someday, he would give in to temptation and choose to sacrifice his soul and his life in order to experience the thrill of having the full power of a god. She would not have him for her own for very long.

It was her turn, now, to demand the answer to a question. She lay against the blanket again, this time with her stomach against the ground. She kept her eyes on his face, memorizing it. "What is it you intend to do with Egypt, once it is yours?"

His eyes crinkled pleasantly as he laughed. "Oh, I have never planned to be content with only Egypt," he confided. "Once I have taken the most powerful nation in the world, I will use its mighty army, and use its might and the strategies that I taught many of them long ago, and take the neighboring lands, and one by one every nation of the world will fall to me, through fear or through blood it matters not. It will all belong to me."

Nebthet stared at her lover with no particular expression for a moment, and then smiled widely. "And when you are king of all the lands of the earth," she began passionately, "Will I stand by your side as your queen?"

The smile she so worshipped appeared on his face again, and he roughly took her head in his hands pulled her to him, kissing her long and hard and passionately, not releasing her until she pulled away to breathe. "Yes," he responded finally. "Of course you will be, Nebthet. You will have brought me my triumph. I will have raised you up from a mere village healer. We belong to each other. There is no escape now."

Smiling, she pressed a kiss against his forehead. And then she stood, and gathered up her robe. Matthias looked at her questioningly as she tied it into place. She responded as she slipped sandals onto her feet. "I will ride out to the Nile tonight, to perform a complicated and exhaustive ritual that will guarantee you control of the world within three years' time."

"Three years?" repeated Matthias, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "I could never dream of so much victory in so short a time."

She looked back at him affectionately. "It matters not to the Dark One – to Set - which mortal controls the world, as long as Egypt remains the greatest of all the nations of the earth. If you keep your capital in Egypt, I have no doubt that you will be granted control of the inferior lands. And with Set on your side, there will be no need for delay," she explained. "I will go now and gain his favor, and come back and tell you what instruction he has for you. If you follow his word, I know you will take your rightful place very soon."

Matthias released a happy sigh, and lying back and closing his eyes he said, "Then go. The sooner you leave, the sooner you will return."

Nebthet took up her bag, filled with simple items for summoning as well as bread and wine. As she moved to leave, Matthias stopped her, taking both her wrists in his hands. Her heart raced as he leaned in close.

"I know I have not kept all my promises," he said softly. "I have not searched for the tomb as well as I should have. But when I am Pharaoh all will be right. You will have the tomb, and everything you could wish for. And of course, you will have my love."

She said nothing but kissed his mouth sweetly before turning away and leaving. She took the great, cream-colored stallion that was her own horse, and rode for the Nile.

Matthias slept fitfully, waking constantly to see if Nebthet had returned with good news. After six hours, he gave up sleep and went out to his now vast army, having his generals run the men through various physical and mental examinations. He checked the horses, and the weaponry, and had breakfast with his men. A little after sunrise, the light-colored horse came into sight, and Nebthet rode into the camp, sweat causing her hair to stick to her red face. She dismounted, clearly exhausted and out of breath. Matthias rushed to her.

"Well?" he demanded.

She held on to his shoulders, her head low as she breathed deeply, trying to fill her tired lungs with air. He led her to sit, and brought her a bowl of stew and toasted bread, as well as some of the small supply of fresh water. She drank greedily, spilling it down her chin, but when she was finished she looked to Matthias with eyes aflame with triumph. "The Dark One has commanded you to send your army into Memphis. The Pharaoh believes you will attack Heliopolis next, and has sent his army away from the capital ahead of him. He is exposed and vulnerable. You will defeat him, and then when the army returns you will have his palace to fortify you against them, and they will be defeated. The powerful and wise will surrender to you. By sunset, Egypt will be yours."

He could not constrain a loud cry of victory. He lifted a fist to the sky and cried out, so certain of her words that he needn't wait for success to celebrate his great conquest. Many of his men joined in, knowing that the witch had brought them all they had fought for, and that if their leader was sure, than they had no reason not to be.

Soon, the men had packed everything, and took their places atop the horses and in their chariots, and they were on their way to conquer the world.

* * *

Matthias led his army as he always insisted, and beside him rode Nebthet, who promised that her magic would be of better use at the front lines. When they approached the palace walls, it was clear that most of the city was desolate and abandoned. Many of those who lived in the capital city were enlisted in the army, and had apparently gone on to Heliopolis, leaving behind mostly women and children who worked indoors. The front guards were easily killed, save one that managed to run into the city. Matthias ordered his men violently to shoot him down, sure that the man would warn the Pharaoh and somehow his nemesis would escape. But the man managed to slip behind the walls unharmed.

There was still hope. Nebthet chased the man down riding her horse hard with her hand raised as she chanted incantations in that mysterious language no one else understood. She rode behind the walls, and Matthias held his breath, waiting for her to return and announce that the path to victory was clear.

Once Nebthet was inside, a loud rumbling came from all around. At first it sounded like thunder, but then Matthias realized that it was an army stomping its feet and the ends of its spears against the ground. The war cry of thousands of voices filled the air. The Pharaoh's full army was behind the wall.

It took a moment for the full meaning of this to sink in, and when it did, he raised his sword over his head, gave a blood thirsty shout, and charged his men forward.

Nebthet had betrayed him. She had led him here to be defeated by the full power of the Pharaoh's army.

The battle was vicious, wild and bloody, but in the end, very short. The capital was well-fortified, and every time his men tried to penetrate it, they were easily killed by the soldiers waiting just on the other side. Very few managed to make it past the walls. He never saw what happened to them after.

There was no winning this fight, but his pride would not allow him to retreat. Though men whose names and lives he knew well fell, and the blood of his friends washed the ground he charged on, he would not surrender. In the end, only a few dozen of his men survived. He called for them to carry on, but each refused, knowing it would mean their deaths, as well as the death of their beloved leader. They would betray him in the hopes it would keep him alive.

Matthias and what was left of his men were captured. They were brought into the palace complex, dragged through the streets where brave citizens threw rotted food and animal feces at them, until they were dropped face-down in the courtyard before the Pharaoh, Semerkhet.

He made an imposing figure. He was not as broad or firmly built as Matthias, but he was taller, with narrower features and prouder eyes. His skin was golden and flawless, his dress grandiose with pure white linen, a lion's tail hanging from his belt, and the beautiful golden headdress, filled with gleaming lapis lazuli and lined with malachite.

Matthias was forced to his knees before the Pharaoh, and a guard roughly shoved his face into the ground. He growled in fury, but could do nothing against the four men it took to hold him down.

"The attempted usurper Matthias," the Pharaoh said, his voice filling the courtyard with little effort. "Whom my father trusted with command over men in his army. You are to be tried for treason and executed for your long, blood-filled rebellion against your king and the gods of Egypt. What say you?"

Matthias was going through every curse he knew, when he heard the soft shifting of feet against the ground before him. He would know the sound of that step anywhere, at any time in the eternities. It belonged to the woman who had claimed to go to the Nile to strengthen his armies, and instead had gone to the Pharaoh to arrange his defeat.

"Nebthet," he hissed into the ground. "Why did you betray me?"

He was roughly brought to a kneeling position, his back straight and a man's hand clasping his hair. He thought he would find some emotion on her face, some hurt or some triumph or some broken-heartedness or some evil. But he found nothing but a still calmness as she looked to the Pharaoh for permission to speak.

"You promised me three years ago that you would help me find the tomb of Set," she said, her voice accusatory, "And I followed you, trusting that you would keep your word. Every new location, every city, every wild place, I thought you were going to begin your search, and I was always left waiting. You never once searched for the tomb. You never once even pretended to."

"Searching during my campaign was unimportant," he dismissed her quickly, sneering. "I would have ruled Egypt and found it quickly, and given it to you."

Nebthet had no reaction to this, save to narrow her eyes as she stared down at him. "More importantly, if you thought that I would let you take control of all the world and do to those who resisted you the same as was done to my people, than you are much more of a fool than I ever thought you to be."

Matthias's mouth was left open as he stared at her, stunned. He still could not force his mind to accept this reality. He stared at her beautiful, cruel face, and tried to form some curse on her head or some word that would stab her heart and leave her bleeding for him the rest of her life, but he could think of nothing to say save, "We were in love!"

She took a few, slow steps closer, and looked down on him with a kind of pity that he hated. "Oh, Matthias," she sighed, "You and I both know…" she leaned down, and whispered her next words in his ear. "That people like us are incapable of love."

He felt as though he had been thrust into icy cold water.

She stood and walked back to stand at Pharaoh Semekhet's side again, dismissing anything Matthias could say in return. She hooked her arm in Semekhet's, and Matthias flinched.

"Lock this traitor and his men away in darkness while I consult the gods for a fitting death for them all," the Pharaoh ordered. Matthias was dragged back to his feet, and he saw his men being dragged away to imprisonment and his mind filled with pure hate when he heard Nebthet speak again.

"Along with the great gift you are giving me in your assistance in locating the tomb of Set," she was saying softly, near Pharaoh's ear. "May I also beg another gift, for our marriage?"

 _Marriage._ Matthias had no doubt that with her power and her deliverance of the rebellious army, the Pharaoh had chosen to make her his queen over all his other wives.

"What is it that you want?" inquired the Pharaoh gently.

Nebthet looked to Matthias again, the shadow of a smile on her lips. "Instead of giving them the mercy of death, instead send the traitor and his men out into the desert with nothing but their clothing, to live with their defeat and their shame and their failure, and allow the gods Set and Ash to decide their fates."

The Pharaoh paused, considering her request. And then he said, "So let it be done."

Matthias's men were tied and gagged, and piled in wagons to be hauled out to the desert and left to wander until their deaths. Before he could be gagged, Matthias shouted a warning to the Pharaoh.

"Do not let her wear her amulet!" he screamed, his hatred of Nebthet overpowering his hatred of Egypt. "She will have such power that she will dethrone you and topple Egypt!"

The Pharaoh held a hand out to silence him. "I know what the amulet is," he said with certainty, "And I know that she will use her power to glorify Egypt and bring peace and strength and wisdom to its people."

Matthias was then gagged, but as he was dragged, thrown into a cart and hauled away, he shouted curses through the cloth at the witch.

Nebthet didn't seem to notice.

* * *

 **Artificial:** I accidentally shifted POV here, and by the time I realized it was too late to do much about it. I like the way the scene unfolded from his point of view more anyway, it just doesn't match with what's happening in Set, the story this is a spinoff of. Oh well! I hope you liked it anyway. As always, reviews are highly prized.


	4. Chapter Four

Nephthys

Chapter Four

Two Years Later

Memphis

The Palace of Pharaoh

In the warmth of the afternoon sun, Nebthet lay beside her one-year-old son, Qa'a, in the bed she often shared with Semerkhet, singing and playing and talking to her little boy.

"And then," she continued the wonderful story she was telling him, "I let the cobra bite me, and it's venom filled my body and nearly killed me, but the great god Set spared my life and let me use some of his power. This is how you must earn the honor of using the power of a god. Remember this well. I will teach it to you again and again until you are old enough to do it yourself."

She lay back in the bed, closing her eyes and feeling the sun on her painted face. She had on the most wondrous clothing, and jewelry of aquamarine and hematite, and green paint and dark kohl on her eyes and red stain on her mouth. Her hair was braided in the Egyptian style, with golden clasps. She was the perfect picture of a queen, but with her own personal power and regal, proud movements.

And the little child beside her was also perfect, with hair that had grown quickly tied to one side of his head, and flawless skin and a smile that was so wide his eyes nearly had to close so his face could contain it. It was clear that he loved looking at his mother, who had a smile she gave only to him, a full smile of unabashed happiness. She sang only for him. She danced only for him. And though he smiled for his father, his biggest smiles were reserved only for her.

As Nebthet hummed a simple tune, she examined each of Qa'a's perfect little fingers, but this examination was interrupted when the door opened loudly. Semerkhet quickly entered, a bottle of wine in one hand and two goblets in the other, a smile spread across his face.

"We are celebrating," he announced, with that incredible voice that could fill a courtyard as easily as a small room. "This is a great day."

Nebthet immediately stood and left her son's side, ignoring the sniffles of protest Qa'a made at her sudden absence. She took a goblet in her hand. "Have you defeated the army of demons that invaded us?"

As Qa'a began to cry, Semerkhet set down his goblet and went to the child's side to comfort him, as Nebthet poured the wine. "No," he replied, "But I believe we have found the location of Set's tomb, or very near."

Qa'a made loud, harsh noises in an attempt to draw his mother back, but her attention was elsewhere, and finally he accepted the comfort of his father. Semekhet set his son on his knee and bounced him up and down. Qa'a held to his father's thumbs and laughed gleefully as Semerkhet smiled brightly at his heir. Between making faces to delight his son, Semerkhet explained, "We found a path in the south which cuts through an oasis, which we believe leads to the tomb. It will need a little more exploring, but the priests are all certain it must be there somewhere, which is enough assurance for me."

Nebthet sipped her wine, her hand shaking with excitement. Finally. She was so close.

Semerkhet clapped his son's hands together as he said, a hint of concern in his voice he tried to keep hidden from Qa'a, "I would like to evacuate my family to another country soon regardless. This land is too dangerous. We will leave immediately and sail down the Nile, and search the lands to the south for the tomb of Set, and perhaps it will contain some way of destroying these demons that are tearing apart my land."

Nebthet turned, and held out Semerkhet's goblet in offering, with a smile on her lips. "Let us drink to your wonderful hopes, and then we should pack to leave."

Semekhet kissed his son's head, and set him back on the bed, where Qa'a seemed content to wait now. He took the goblet, and the king and queen drank to what seemed would be a better future, more adventurous, more rewarding. And then Nebthet played with the child, murmuring soft words to him in an unfamiliar language while Semerkhet packed only what they needed most. He sent the guard to fetch the wet nurse so they would be able to leave immediately. After the guard left, he packed away the last few things, and then began to make odd sounds.

He stood quickly and tried to take in air, but instead began to choke. When he collapsed, Nebthet set Qa'a on the bed, and stood to take up the chest the dying Semerkhet had packed. Her hands wrapped around a handle and she began to stand when Semekhet stood suddenly, and wrapped his large, strong hands around her throat. As he began to drown in his blood as Matthias's soldiers had long ago, he began to choke her. Air could not move down into her lungs no matter how hard she drew breath, so she used all her strength to shove the Pharaoh back. He fell to the ground, making a few last horrific noises and shuddering before finally dying.

Qa'a screamed on the bed, but Nebthet didn't seem to notice as she picked up the trunk and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. The guard arrived with the wet nurse, and Nebthet dismissed them both, explaining that the Pharaoh had changed his plan. The guard took her chest and escorted the queen from the palace.

They arrived at the dock near evening, and Nebthet was immediately met with a deep bow from the captain of her ship.

"My Queen," he stated, standing. "Where is your husband, the Pharaoh?"

Nebthet watched as they loaded her trunk onto the boat, and then turned to the captain with a reassuring smile. "My husband has chosen to wait in the capital to finish political business, and plan for the evacuation and safety of his people."

"And the prince?"

 _The child._ She had forgotten the child!Nebthet nearly cursed, but calmly said, "We decided it was best to leave Qa'a with his wet nurse. They will join me in a few days."

The captain accepted this, and escorted Nebthet to the ship. She settled into the little room kept for her, unpacking her things as they began to sail down the Nile. Once everything was in place, she rested for a moment in her bed, tired from the use of magic it took to kill her husband. It had been years since she had used the amount of magical power it took to take someone's life, and it left her tired. Still, she thought, she probably ought to have killed the child, too. He was her son and she cared for him, but she had a higher purpose. And to let the child live through the invasion of a demonic army, to leave him to be torn to pieces by some undead thing, was cruelty. She could have ended Qa'a without suffering. But it was too late.

After a short rest, she stepped back out of her room and walked to the front of the ship to watch the sun set. The sky was already a fiery orange and yellow, all traces of blue left turned a purple-grey color like it was the smoke rising from the sun. She sighed contentedly, saying goodbye to the sun as it sank down into the underworld with Re, where her beloved god Set would protect it on its journey through the dark land. And she was on her way to Set's tomb, finally, after so many long years of searching. She reached up to stroke the cobra amulet, the symbol of her absolute devotion –

And froze.

The amulet was not around her neck. And no amount of looking or searching with her fingers would reveal it to her. She ran around the ship seeking it, tearing through her clothes and lying on the ground to look beneath things. She ordered the men to search, but by the time the sky was dark and full of stars she had to admit to herself what she already knew.

When Semerkhet had gone to choke her, he wasn't trying to murder her. He was taking hold of the amulet. And when she had shoved him away, he had torn it from her throat. The amulet was gone. And she didn't know if this meant she had abandoned it, or that it had abandoned her, and therefore that Set had abandoned her.

She roared and screamed and cried her anger and despair, and prayed again and again through the night, but she could hear nothing of her god, and the familiar buzzing in her veins was gone.

Nebthet was powerless.

Now that she was on the road to Set's tomb, now that she was finally on the edge of victory, Set had abandoned her.

Ready to fall into endless misery, Nebthet raised her spirits by reminding herself that now she was essentially Pharaoh, and she was on her way to Set's tomb, and surely, surely once she uncovered it, Set would forgive her and grant her all the glory she had sought her whole life. And the symbol of the pact only mattered while she was mortal. Once she raised Set back to his true glory, he would surely make her a goddess.

Nebthet tried to calm her racing heart through prayer, through meditation, and finally her only choice was to try to calm it through sleep. She felt ill as she lay in her bed, feeling for the first time absolutely powerless, despite now being the most powerful being in the world. It meant nothing without her magic, and life meant nothing if her god had turned his back on her. She had to find a way to show her devotion to him.

She slept fitfully a few hours as the sky darkened. But sometime before the first hours of morning, she was woken by a strange shaking sensation, as though the ship had hit rough waters. Irritated, she opened her eyes and stood, thinking of a thousand ways to curse the men who had carried her into these waters and woken her from her rest. But when she stood, she stumbled to the right a few steps before catching her balance. Her breath was calm and level as she realized that she was standing in water. Her ship was sinking beneath the cruel waters of the Nile.

With steady step, she went to her window and looked out, and found men screaming and diving into the waters to escape the crocodiles that had invaded the ship. Her heart sank. That could only mean one thing. Set had grown tired of waiting for her to find his tomb, and would choose another to serve him. He was taking her out of the game, putting her somewhere she wouldn't be in his way.

Waiting for rage, she only found tears of sadness making their way down her cheeks. She had tried so hard for so long, only for her great god to choose another. It hurt more than everything she had ever suffered combined into one wound.

As water filled the room, she found herself cowering in a corner, sobbing into her hands. She had no fear of death and no fear of pain, only fear of waking in the next world without her god there to tell her she had done well.

Water poured in quickly now, and with the water came a crocodile. Her fear finally stilled as she watched it swim near her, and her heart calmed and her breath steadied. This crocodile had been sent to her for a reason, she knew it. It had been sent so that she could die with some degree of dignity, of glory. Perhaps Set had not abandoned her so completely, after all.

Nebthet took a deep breath, gave a prayer of thanks, and then swam straight into the crocodile's jaws. She gave her life to the symbol of Sobek, who served Set, and therefore sacrificed her life to the god she had loved more than she had even loved herself.

* * *

 **Artificial:** If, for whatever reason, you've read this without having read any of Set and with no intention of reading it, then this may well be the chapter you want to stop reading. It completes one story (Nebthet's and to an extent, Matthias's), and the next chapter connects it to Set. As always, reviews are more than welcome. One more chapter left!


	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:** This is the final chapter, cut into parts. It tells the story of Nebthet's soul, rather than Nebthet herself. To see more of what happens to her soul, please check out my story, Set.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the Mummy, nor do I own _the Willow Song,_ which is quoted here as written in Shakespeare's _Othello._ Also, I've done my best to research every time period mentioned, but there may be some mistakes.

Thank you, Lindsay, for the lovely review! Plots are hard for me, too (and Netflix is so, so easy), so I just soak in inspiration wherever I can. My family is doing a bit better. Thanks for the concern, review, and critique!

I hope everyone will enjoy this last chapter. Please remember to review!

* * *

Nephthys

Chapter Five

 **Part One**

Around 1290 BC

Thebes

Palace Gardens

A soft, musical humming sound passed the lips of Miu, once consort of the Pharaoh Seti, now consort to a lower prince. She sat at a small, lovely pond with her daughter, three years of age, who had the same dark curls and bright eyes her mother had. Now those curls were swirling in the water of the pond, while Miu's delicate hands held her flailing body beneath the water. Tears made their way down her face as Miu sobbed, and she choked on the words of her song.

"Sing willow, wi-llow, wi-willow willow…" she sang, repeating the words she had heard her old, beloved friend sing before Isis's bloody, painful death. "Si-sing all a gr-green – please stop!" she cried out as the little girl fought harder to push her mouth through the veil of water. "Aneksi, it is what must be done! Please stop!"

Sobs ripped through her body as though they would tear her in two if they could. She almost didn't have the strength to hold the little body down, but when the girl's lips parted and Miu could almost see the fluid rushing into her little daughter's lungs, she counted to twenty and finally released the girl.

Heavy, quick footfalls echoed through the garden, and she looked to see the Medjai rush forward, and watched them pull her little girl's paling, unmoving body from the water. They looked to Miu with both rage and pity, and grabbed her roughly to pull her up from her knees.

"It is too late to save the prince's little daughter," muttered the Medjai that still sat beside Aneksi's lifeless body. "Too late to save Miu from the dark spirits and illness that have taken her mind. No physician or priest can save her now."

"No illness took me," cried Miu. "Only Set took my daughter, choosing to be born again through me. Such evil could not live in the world. I could not raise the enemy of the house of Pharaoh as my own."

The guard that held her arm a little too hard said, "Set was not reincarnated as your daughter, Miu. Set will never be reincarnated. The gods have told us that when he returns, he will return in his own body. You have killed your daughter for nothing."

"No," muttered Miu, as she was dragged from the pond that had claimed her daughter's life. "The gods told me. Aneksi was filled with the spirit of Set. She would have destroyed us all. I am so ashamed to have been the one to bring such an abomination into this world."

"You are an abomination, killing your own child!" the guard shouted, but his commander held a hand to steady him.

"This woman is sick," he said calmly. "And now she will be put to death for her illness. She is to be pitied, not attacked."

The guard nodded his head, the fire of rage in his eyes dying out and becoming pools of pity for the young girl who had been driven mad and killed her own daughter. They were too late to save either of them.

And so the guards escorted the girl out of the gardens, and to her death as she sang, "Sing all a green willow, my garland shall be."

* * *

 **Part Two**

Around 800 AD

Japan

Streets of Nagaoka-kyo

Dressed in her many-layered, brightly colored robes, Itami Yuzuki left the brothel. She kept her painted face hidden by a fan as she walked through the darkest streets, filled with no one but the lowest of humanity, the criminals, the sinners, the homeless. The outskirts of the capital city attracted all those who had no home to tie them down. Itami was one of those, and always had been.

Born to a prostitute who had been born in Japan, travelled to China, and then came back, and a man who her mother had never known the name of, Itami was raised in a brothel in a poor coastal town, but had grown up learning the art of seduction, of hospitality, of pleasure, and she became beautiful, charming and wickedly clever. No one could stop her once she set her mind to something.

And so she lived at the brothel, choosing it over those closer to the palace because the poor visited more often than the rich, though she had her fair share of well-off admirers. She took all men to her bed, be they rich or poor, Japanese or from another country, as long as they could pay. And then she took something more.

But tonight there had been no visitors, and Itami was not one to waste her nights sleeping. She soon came to a man, better dressed then others in the area, whose eyes wandered over her and she knew immediately that he wanted her.

Her smile hidden behind her fan, she approached the man. She stood close, waiting for him to look nervously at her. She wasn't meant to be out at night alone, and it would be obvious what sort of woman she was. She wondered how much he would pay her.

"Good evening," she greeted him finally. "Cold night, is it not?"

He smiled at her, and then turned his head and nodded behind him. Frowning in confusion, Itami turned her head to see who he had nodded to, and found a group of five or six men coming out of the narrow street behind them, hands reaching for her. She screamed and reached for the dagger she carried with her, only to find the man she had targeted holding it. He must have taken it from her robes while she stood close to him. Too close. She cursed herself.

As the men dragged her into the narrow street, she shouted for help, but each of the men threatened anyone that looked at them with a painful death. The men said nothing to her but threw her to the ground, kicking her in her face, chest, stomach, legs, again and again. They yanked her hair from the clip and pulled it hard, forcing her head up as they spat into it, and punched and kicked as hard as they could.

Blood dripping from her mouth, they finally let her fall to the ground, where she groaned in agony. Her head felt that it would explode with all the pain she was experiencing, but finally she looked up at the faces of the men. She didn't recognize any of the faces.

"Why?" she choked out, spitting more blood to the ground.

"Our question," the largest of the men said roughly, "Is why. Why would you do this, and how could you believe you would manage to live without consequences?"

Itami Yuzuki searched her mind, and finally realized who they must be. The sons of Shimazu, a man she had lain with and then given his plans for conquest to his enemies. She had heard that he had been assassinated. But she hadn't believed his sons would ever know who had betrayed him. She'd hoped they would fight amongst themselves; it would have been deeply amusing.

Finally, Itami drew in a deep breath. She knew this was her end, and she would not die shamefully. "I became a prostitute to survive," she said. "And a seller of secrets to thrive, to leave Japan forever and live in luxury in India where no man would ever lay a finger on me again."

"Your wish is granted," spat the eldest son. "No man will ever lay a finger on you again."

She saw a flash of her own dagger before it was driven deep into her skull.

* * *

 **Part Three**

1850 AD

Paris, France

In her sitting-room, Colette Baptiste examined her visage in her favorite, mother-of-pearl encrusted hand mirror. Her fair skin appeared free of blemish and very fair due to a little pearl powder, applied with a light hand so that no one knew she was wearing it. Her dark eyes shone thanks to the daily drops of lemon juice and belladonna drops she applied, with help from a servant to hold her head still. Her mouth shone with a layer of beeswax on them to protect them from the cold weather, and no one should be able to tell that she had also applied a little dye from crushed flowers to make them appear redder.

Really, she was the picture of perfection in her perfect full-skirt dress in peacock blue, fawn-colored furs and shining, dark brown hair touched here and there with gold. The only flaw in her near-flawlessness was in those wretched curls that would not sit on her forehead right.

"I think I may fire my girl," she muttered, lowering the mirror to look at her friend Sophie who lounged on the couch beside her, wrapped in furs that were not quite as good as Colette's. "She never sets my curls right. And last night there were wrinkles in my sheets and I could not sleep a wink."

Sophie laughed and lowered the magazine she had been examining. "How many girls have you dismissed this year?"

"It's only January," objected Colette, setting aside the mirror.

Sophie sat up straight, her too-full brows going up. "Precisely. It has been…how many? Three? In less than a month."

Colette raised her head. "I deserve the best, and I pay for the best, and I accept nothing less."

" _You_ pay nothing," Sophie laughed. "Your father pays. And don't you wonder what happens to them after they leave?"

Colette's well-plucked brows knit together in confusion. "What do you mean, what happens to them after they leave? Why should I care what happens to them when they are not here? It is none of my concern."

Sophie sighed, annoyed, having been on this topic with Colette before. The girl was not a terrible friend; she was often generous, and sweet, and funny, but she was also disgustingly spoiled. "They are people, too, Colette."

The vain girl shrugged her perfect shoulders. "As though that matters?" she asked, as her girl walked into the room. Colette glanced at her, and then turned her attention back to Sophie. "It isn't as though servants are actually important to society."

"Colette!" Sophie gasped in horror at her friend's appalling manners.

Colette ignored her, and turned back to her girl. "What is it? Why are you interrupting us?"

The girl, Anne, held out a calling card, which Colette took excitedly and examined. It belonged to Felix Lareau, the man who had escorted her home after the Poyer family's winter ball three nights ago. She had met him nearly five months previously, and he was her favorite of her suitors. "Show him in!"

Anne turned and headed for the staircase. "I will fetch your father first."

"No!" Colette cried out, stopping the girl. "Do not be rude. He is a guest and should not be waiting at the door. Show him in first, and then go and fetch my father."

The girl hesitated to commit this sin of etiquette. "I really ought to…"

"Now, Anne!" Sheepishly, Anne stepped away from the staircase and went to the door. As soon as the man was inside, she heard Anne's quick steps as she rushed upstairs to bring her father.

Colette and Sophie stood, standing in the middle of the room side-by-side with their hands folded behind them, when into the room stepped a tall, broad-chested man with unruly long hair and streaks of grey in his beard.

Colette's charming smile fell. "Who are you?"' she demanded. "You are not Felix Lareau. How did you get his card?"

"You don't remember me, do you?" he said roughly, as he stepped into the room, his heavy winter coat filled with holes still on his back. "How could you not remember me?"

His voice was gravelly, and made Colette's skin go cold. "Am I supposed to know you?"

He took another step, and Sophie tried to cling to Colette's hand, but Colette pulled her hand back. "My name is Joseph Rochefort. I used to be your footman," he said. "I worked for your family for ten years, before you were offended that I wasn't in love with you like all the other men in the house pretended to be. So you claimed I spoke inappropriately to you. I was beaten and dismissed."

Colette felt her heart skip a beat, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I didn't know you were beaten. I swear." But there was no point in denying anything else. It was all true.

Joseph took another step forward. "Word spread, and no respectful place would give me work. I could not support my family. During the winter, just before her fifth Christmas, my little Leonis died of starvation." A gloved hand went to her mouth as Colette gasped in horror, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, she didn't know what, but he continued. "I didn't eat for days and gave her every morsel I could find, my wife and I begged on the streets, went from house to house pleading for mercy, and it wasn't enough. My little girl is dead because of you."

Tears in her eyes, Colette cried out, "I didn't know! How could I know that would happen?"

"You never care what happens," he growled, taking another step forward, and this time Colette let Sophie take her hand as they backed up a step. "I took the calling card while you were away visiting today, so I could get in when you came back. And now…I can have my revenge."

Sophie and Colette screamed as he suddenly charged her, and Colette threw her head back and cried out in agony when she felt the blade of a knife slip between her ribs. She saw her father's horrified face when he came down the stairs, just before Joseph twisted the knife, and everything went dark.

* * *

 **Part Four**

1941 AD

America

Los Angeles, California

Amelia Farwell always had to have things exactly the way she wanted them, from the films she made to the number of ice cubes in her glass. Everything had to be precise, and handed to her on a silver platter. After all, she had earned it. She had worked hard as an adolescent and teenager, working every dirty position in the film business, and by her early 20s she was in the most popular silent films. Soon, she was the star of them and then she was the darling of Hollywood and the American people.

This fame began to wane in her early thirties, but it didn't matter. By then she had enough money from film and wise investment to retire from work for a time and fully enjoy life. But by her mid-thirties, spending her money on herself and her family and her friends grew dull. They all had everything they could ever want. So instead, she began hosting an annual charity ball.

That night she had attended her finest, a beautiful Egyptian-themed costume ball to benefit a children's hospital. Or the war effort. Or something, it didn't really matter what. The party had been extravagant and exhausting, and now she was home all she wanted was some time to herself. She had her servants quickly prepare her some iced tea and set it out on the back porch while she went and changed into her designer bathing suit.

She stepped outside, her dark hair clipped up, dark makeup still on her famous, soulful dark eyes. Eyes that had made a million men fall in love. Eyes that had been treated better than most fine antiques.

Amelia set a large, soft towel out and had a sip of her tea before stepping into her pool. Every evening she swam laps, to keep her figure and to cool her temper. By night, she was fed up with the inadequate people around her. And she had no immediate family to come home and rant to, no husband and certainly no children. Charities were all she had to spend her fortune on.

She waded through the pool at first, sighing and adjusting to the cool water as she waved her butler back inside. She had swam in that pool a hundred times. It was impossible for her to drown in it.

Slowly, she moved and began swimming her laps across the enormous, five hundred thousand dollar pool. One, two, three. As she began the fourth lap, she noticed that her left arm was weaker than her right. By the fifth, she realized her left leg was weaker, also. How had she lost so much strength in half her body? She was careful to keep in shape every day. How had this happened?

Suddenly, the night grew darker around her. The sun had set many hours ago, and she looked up to the electric lights around her pool, but they were still lit. Yet somehow everything was growing darker and darker every moment. She tried to shout for her butler but her mouth felt numb. When she tried again, all she could get past her lips was a jumble of nonsense sounds.

When the severe headache hit, she slipped beneath the water. In panic she tried to kick, but only scraped her feet against the bottom of the pool. She used her hands to try to pull herself up from the water, but of course it did no good. There was nothing solid to grab onto. She realized as the entire left side of her body went numb what was happening to her. Through the pain, it became clear. She was having a stroke, at only 36.

Her headache was so severe that she closed her eyes tight against it, feeling as though her brain had grown four times the size and was going to burst from her skull. She took in a breath to scream.

Amelia realized, too late, the mistake she made. Water filled her lungs and she felt both a horrible burning sensation as well as something freezing cold filling up her body. Her thoughts drifted upward and no matter how hard she tried to pull them back down, there was no stopping it. The greatest film star of the 20s was going to die here, having a stroke, drowning in her pool. How boring.

As she died, she felt her consciousness float away, not towards some cloudy heaven, but close to the earth. It was less like she was going to another world, and more like she was going to another life.

Well. As long as the next one was better than this, then that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Artificial:** Again, see the continued life of Nebthet's soul in my fanfic, Set. I hope you enjoyed this little story. I had a great time exploring this idea and trying my hand at seeing how Matthias became what he became. Please, let me know what you thought!


End file.
